Office Space

Just had another work birthday party.  Consists of singing ‘happy birthday,’ cake and all.  I’m not a huge singer, so usually just fade out of the singing portion of the party.  Plus, each time we sing, I find it so incredibly ridiculous that it is hard to actually get a word out.  During this time, I truly feel as though I am living Office Space, so use the time to laugh instead of sing.  Oh, the simple things in life.

Today, after we had sung and eaten some cake, the discussion turned to the recent blizzard and travel delays.  Someone said that people would prefer to sit on a runway for 6 hours rather than their flight being cancelled.  Who are these people?

“They’re retards!” someone blurted out. 

Insert squealing breaks and awkward silence.  Time pretty much stopped until someone responded, “that’s not very PC.”  Perhaps “they’re mentally challenged!” would have worked better in this context.

Having moved on from this minor faux pas (I clearly hadn’t, as you can see from this post), next the topic of conversation moved to birthdays and how lots of babies were probably created during the storm.  Because of the storm, they are predicting a lot of ‘blizzard babies.’  Apparently there were also a bunch of ‘blackout babies’ created during the NYC blackout.  Considering all of our bosses are gay and sex isn’t usually a topic of conversation during regular work hours,  this is when we all realized the discussion was quickly progressing downhill and it was time to get back to work.  Yep, I live Office Space.


2 Responses to Office Space

  1. […] I am icicle December 28, 2009 Sara Leave a comment Go to comments It is horrendously cold outside. The only thing this crap is good for is skiing and cuddling. See also blizzard babies. […]

  2. […] metro blogging material is endless December 28, 2009 Sara Leave a comment Go to comments I’m blogging on the metro. I am sitting in the handicap seats, obviously. Dude across from me is blatantly picking his nose. This is no average pick. He must be digging for gold or something. My guess is that he ate it too, but I’m not entirely certain; the dig was so disgusting that I had to look away. He also makes this odd grunting noise every 10 seconds or so. Perhaps he actually belongs in the handicap seats. Or shall I call them seats for retarded people? […]

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